Desire
by Sirensong24
Summary: While searching through old possessions for the key to finding Bae, he realizes what he has lost.


A/N-So this lovely prompt came from woubazoid when she sent me the painful picture of Rumplestiltskin in posession of the Mirror of Erised. Disclaimer-I don't own Harry Potter or OUAT.

There was a particular problem with being the Dark One and having accrued so many possessions over the years. When one had this many things, the things themselves started to lose meaning. On top of this, the things themselves started to get...lost. He had a massive castle, and of course, the most precious things in his unique collection were stored in his main dining room. But there was one solid wing of the castle that was practically blocked off because of the number of _things_ he had gathered.

One thing he had noticed, as people surrendered their possessions to him, is that sometimes, the person who dealt with him didn't notice the value of what they lost until it was gone. This, he found a quite irritating trait of mortals. Having had something precious, a family, someone who lov-

He cut off his train of thought. There was no use in going down that road. She was dead. It didn't matter what the kiss had meant.

He raised his hand up higher, with the softly glowing ball of magic in his hand lighting the path in front of him. Boredom had brought him to the overstuffed Wing of Things, as he thought of it. Boredom was not good; boredom meant that he was at a dead end trying to find Bae. He thought, perhaps, one of these old forgotten possessions; whether or not he had acquired it with that specific thought in mind, could help him find his son. He magiked himself to the very back of the wing, bypassing hundreds of years, to go back to the beginning.

It was in that room where he found it.

He had forgotten what had been wrapped in the heavy black silk. It was taller than he was, leaning against the back wall. Touching the material, he recalled when he had acquired this particular object. It had been in one of his first deals, from a bent old wizard who had wanted nothing more than to get rid of what he called 'a curse'. Part of the silk cloak had slipped at the top, and three scroll letters were written. _Eri._

Ahh yes, he remembered. It was that mirror. The one that had shown him powerful, respected, with Bae by his side looking up adoringly.

He drummed his fingers together and let out a little giggle. Perhaps he had hit it right the first time. It had been accurate before, with showing him what he wanted. Maybe this glance into the mirror would show him what he wanted now. A way to find his son.

Stepping back, he gestured, reappearing with the bulky mirror in his dining hall. Another gesture of his hand had the ribbon vanishing, and the slippery black material flowed to the ground.

For a moment, he saw nothing but himself and his dining hall.

Then, from the outside of the frame, a boy stepped. Not as young now, Baelfire was a teenager, just on the cusp of manhood. His longish hair was curly as his fathers had been, and his eyes twinkled merrily.

He made eye contact with his father, and his easygoing grin widened.

Rumple could feel his heart aching at the sight of his son. He gestured with his hand, ready to call the silk cover back and spare himself the sight of his son. That was when another figure materialized within the glass.

Her lips were as red as they had been the day she had first, bravely, volunteered to go with him as the price of her family's safety. Long dark brown hair coiled down her back, pulled out of her face. Her blue eyes sparked, happy to see him. She had a healthy glow about her, and it wasn't difficult to see why.

The dress she wore was loose on her body, but it showed the roundness of her belly. One hand came up to rest on her protruding stomach, her other reached over to wrap around Bae's shoulders, lovingly mothering. She looked at him, and her mouth moved, as if she was talking to him.

_I love you_.

Belle, alive. Belle, healthy. Belle, pregnant with his child.

His sight narrowed. He could no longer see the room he was in, he couldn't see even the frame of the mirror. He could only see them.

He stepped closer. Gods, the sight of her took his breath away.

Reaching out, he went to brush some stray pieces of hair from her face. He wanted to kiss her, to hold her, to tell her he was sorry, that he understood. That he loved her too.

His hand was inches away from her face when it stopped, dead. Pressed against the glass.

He had forgotten. Sliding his hand forward, he pressed his whole hand against the glass of the mirror.

She wasn't real. She would never be real again. She would never look like _this_.

And yet...

He continued to stare, hungrily.

Hours passed. Turned to days.

He stayed there. Staring, almost unblinkingly at the image before him. He would move, occasionally. Only when he forgot that they weren't real, and he reached out to touch his son, or his lover.

He agonized over why this couldn't be real. Why he, who had everything, had nothing of real value.

Of why he hadn't valued what he now missed.

A.N-It tore my heart to write this. Reviews are nice! Flames will roast marshmallows and make grilled cheese.


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